Zerpies
by allisonwonderland1496
Summary: It's almost as bad as herpes. It's about zombies. And this is my attempt at getting your attention. I don't even know... a Walking Dead fanfic I originally made for a friend and got sort of lazy. Yes. urrrgh.


Well, when they told me the world was going to end I didn't expect it to be like this.

I woke up to the peculiar sound of a smoker trying to speak rather unsuccessfully. It was a raspy, sickening sort of breathing, sounding on the verge of death. Gurgled snorts and the gradual creaks of something being dragged along the wooden floors outside my door jump started my heart. Now, if that weren't enough to give you the chills, I shot up in my bed drenched in my own sweat to the following chorus of nails grinding against closed doors and torn wallpaper. Seeing as though this wasn't really close to considerably "normal" I freaked out a little.

I made the first mistake of remaining where I was, shakily screaming at the top of my lungs, "HEY, STOP IT."

And the scratches replied by falling into a motor like rhythm with the joined explosion of snarling and grunts. The second error of Kaytie Cripps's nightmare was again remaining in the comforts of my blankets, clearing my throat, and thinking that my family was just screwing with me. So I went ahead and yelled again. "THIS ISN'T FUNNY. STOP IT." This too was rewarded with an angry wave of 'URGH' and 'BLARGH' and the occasional 'HUMFPHLARGHLITPITHHHHHSSFFTFFFT' which only seemed to piss me off more. As for the third and final attempt at staying in my world of persistency and complete order, I jolted to my feet, stormed to the door and flung it open with, and I quote, "I SAID WOULD YOU PLEASE ST- OH SHI-", as I took my first actual, legit glimpse at a partially torn, slobbering, zombie-fied version of my next door neighbor, Mrs. Kissy.

That was when I decided that this Monday was going to be a _really_, _really_ sucky one.

At my terrified exclamation, the ugly, torn apart, limbs falling off, eye twitching Mrs. Kissy began to stumble almost excitedly towards me, tongue spilling out, and teeth snapping at my mortified face. Sure enough as any logical person would do in the situation, I followed my instinctive melody of 'nope' 'nope' 'nope's rolling around in my mind and backtracked towards my bolted window. With a grunt, my hands fell under the small bar that always seemed to be super glued to the spot and heaved with all my might, checking behind me for the now hyperventilating creature that used to be that "old hag" across the street.

Not much left of her now…

Seeing as though I was going nowhere with pulling on the stupid thing, I pulled up visual instructions on how to handle a situation dealing with your insane neighbor breaking into your home and trying to eat your brains. All I could recall was a movie a friend of mine had shown me a while back called _Zombieland_. Well, there certainly wasn't anything else better I could think of at the time, so I settled for the first rule I remembered. _Cardio_.

Leaping away from the window, I sprinted around Mrs. K and headed to the kitchen where my family left a collection of knives. Thankfully the monster was loud yet _slow_, so I passed by without much difficulty. As I dashed through the house flicking my head back and forth for more intruders, I began to wonder if my family was alright. Directly beside my own room was the bedroom of my mom and dad, but to my horror the door was swung wide open, blood streaks decorating the base of the frame. Definitely a small chance of their escape being successful.

There was no time for mourning so I pursued onward to the dining room area that happened to be swarmed with three more of the disgusting things.

With a screeching halt, I pressed against the wall willing myself to be invisible. To my astonishment they seemed not to take notice of me but rather of something else on the ground. It was then I noticed the awful scent of something gone horribly raw and out of its expiration date. Curiosity getting the better of me, I shimmied along the perimeter of the room, craning my head to get a clearer look. Once I saw the first limb protruded from one of the undead's lips I screamed.

Rule number one of the zombie apocalypse I learned today: don't make any noise at all like you don't exist or you're practically screwed.

Two of the decomposing heads leaned towards me, tilting in a registering manner, rising up with a fearsome roar. They rose in a sloppy motion, emitting the occasional loud popping sound of something being pulled out of place. Red juices spilled from cracking teeth and swollen tongues as their lifeless, white gazes settled over my own trembling gawking spell. I screamed mentally for my legs to move, run, do _something_ as they gradually, yet surely, made their way to my rooted stature. Adrenaline poured through my veins leaving an itch to get out of my frozen state. I felt on the verge of passing out. A grubby hand began to reach out at me, stroking my hair, tracing my face, opening its mouth…

Ew. This was _not_ was I had in mind when I dreamed for the day a boy would touch me like a real woman.

In a blurred, frantic kick, I downed the beast, yanking back my now slimy arm with repulsion. Gagging, I leaped onto the nearest table, smashing my forehead against a forgotten chandelier, and like a gazelle, freaking soared above my predator.

Well, I mean sort of.

My foot wasn't exactly prepared for a sudden athletic lesson of hurtles and so it kind of intertwined in one of the eyes of the thing, squishing deep into the crevices of its eyeball. Before I knew it, I had begun to fall towards the ground, slamming my body against the hard surface. Luckily for me, my awesome reflexes showed on through, shielding my best facial features. Unluckily for the zombie… I noticed my foot seemed a bit heavier than usual. Swiveling my upper body around, I caught a glimpse at my new growth. A severed head was glued to my toes. And it was still _moving_.

This was not really the fashion statement of the year, so much like the task of tap dancing while lying down, I thrashed my unwelcome hitchhiker around violently while simultaneously crab walking away from the other two intruders. Their ridiculous gasps and groans morphed together to sound similar to a cheesy audience sitcom.

Cursing and crawling and kicking proved to be an extremely tiring exercise. Eventually I started to grow a bit bored with the situation, straining to continue this tiring mission to keep my life. Eh, what was the point? The whole thing was too terribly _exhausting_. My back struck gently against the wall of a corner where I was no doubt trapped.

Sighing, I ceased my struggling and twiddled with the hem of my night shirt. It was a shame such nice clothes were so quickly infected with grime and guts of my relatives in the course of a couple of minutes. Well, I should really being thinking it's a shame I'd be dying in disgusting smells and the shameful addition of a zombie personalized shoe that _still_ looked determined to bite off my leg.

I chuckled to myself. Just wait for that one kid that walks in here and finds my eaten away body, nothing but a single foot left behind, shoved into the socket of a single head.

A forth growling fit arose in the room as Mrs. K finally found where the party was at. The other two guys, now easily recognizable as Paul Jenkins and Ricardo Sal, the local buttheads who thought they ruled the world because they were idiotic crack dealers, collapsed to their knees on either side of me, reaching out to tear away at my skin. Of all the people to die in the hands of…

Wait a minute. Didn't they say that when nearing death your life flashes before your eyes? So why is it all I can envision is the time I ran through the house a couple of days ago, having the place all to myself, accidentally crashing into the lamp we never use, breaking the Jesus statue that always seemed to give me the creeps because I always felt so judged while shoveling away my meats and feeding the dog my greens. I made sure to put it back, temporarily. Is this to tell me that I am no longer fit to rise into heaven because I disgraced the face of…?

_Oh_.

Thrusting my arms upwards from under the side table I failed to realize I was under, I caught the texture of the loose figurine, pulling it down into my throbbing hands. Muttering a brief apology to the ceiling, I brought the object up over me as Paul opened his weed stained mouth and (maybe a little too gleefully) struck it down upon his greasy hair, bashing his cranium in repeatedly until he finally grew still. I proceeded to do the same with an unflinching Ricardo, squinting at the flecks of crusty, bloody droplets smacking my cheeks and neck while subconsciously chanting "This. Is. For. Ruining. My. Shirt."

When that was done and over with, I did a quick check with Mrs. K who was thankfully impervious to the granted "zombie powers" and remained as hag-like and frail as ever. And so, so, so painfully _slow_.

I took a moment to catch my breath, having the strong urge to plant kisses upon Jesus's now distorted face gazing at me disapprovingly, and observed Bobby the lone zombie head twitching impatiently for a meal to be had. Yeah, I wasn't really ready to deal with him quite yet so I decided to just chill a bit while pushing corpses off my knees.

I suppose this is a good place to insert that part of the story where you introduce yourself and describe your every perfection and flaw so here's an abbreviated version. My name is Kaytie Cripps, an everyday average older teenager, and this is my entry on the days I'll survive through in the world now run by the walking dead. Kind of sounds like it could be show, ah, but sadly it's the real deal. And for those of you who ran around saying "man, I sure wish the zombie apocalypse were here. I'd so be prepared to kill some zombies!" Yeah. Thanks a lot, guys. Because not only has your wish come true, but you somehow dragged me into the midst of it.

This was what Georgia had fallen to. I began to wonder if I were the only survivor since it sure sounded like it until a frightening earthquake shattered my thoughts. With a yelp, I covered my head, grateful for the little protection granted to me by the side table, shutting my eyes. Bits of the roof collapsed onto the ground from what I could hear, crumbles of debris sprinkling against my ankles. It would probably be a good idea if I pulled my legs up to my chest and provide them with some shelter as well, so I quickly slid a foot backwards and dragged the other. The zombie head gurgled with dissatisfaction and annoyance as it grazed past one of the sturdy legs of the furniture releasing a soft, reflexive "sorry" from my lips.

The shaking continued. I sat there shivering, keeping my left thigh a small distance away from me to ensure no bites would fall upon my trembling body. After what felt like ages, the room stilled and I cautiously peeked through squinting eyes to find the remainder of my beloved home.

The first thing I noticed was the hissing face of Mrs. K, now ensnared by the death grip of fallen rubble. The ceiling had literally caved in on her, covering her entire lower half, preventing any critical movement, to my relief. A normal, live human probably would have screamed grotesquely at the top of his or her lungs then eventually passed out or keeled over, but seeing as how she wasn't quite alive anymore, she was still going about her annoying chorus of meaningless shouts.

The second thing I took note of was the ginormous tank resting not a couple of yards away from my front porch.

A wave of exhilaration washed over me as I thought of all the military men here to save the day. I was just about to begin flapping my arms eagerly and scream for attention when I stopped. The tank wasn't in the best of conditions. In fact, it seemed to have broken down entirely, the entrance popped open slightly, almost ominously. Dread coursed through me as I struggled to hide away further into the dark fortress of my ruined house, watching the hatch vibrate from a steady hum to a ferocious gunfire rate.

The foot zombie began to squeal loudly. Mrs. K started choking a howl.

Suddenly the lid to the tank shot open, hands reaching out aggressively. They didn't move with the usual calmness or graveness of soldiers prepared to fight for their country and citizens, but with an urgency. An almost ravenous gesture, like they didn't have full control over muscles and nerves.

Foot zombie started to click its mouth excitedly.

Those weren't my saviors. They were dozens of more undead, and they were slowly grasping the concept of climbing over one another to climb out into the open. And I was dangerously close.

Mrs. K went on with her chaotic noises, reaching towards me, clawing the mess of a floor and snapping her jaw. In a pathetic attempt at silencing her (and forgetting she wasn't really Mrs. K), I shot a finger to my lips and tried making shushing motions. It was after about ten of these that I cursed to myself and rethought my approach. If I couldn't get these two to shut up then there was no questioning the fact I would be found.

I didn't know if I had it in me to smash another face in since that wasn't really an easy task. Besides, Jesus didn't look too well, so I planned of ways to getting to the kitchen and back without being seen. Of course the real problem here was the stupid built in alarm that was still clasped on my foot.

To my disappointment, I found no other weapon nearby. No plank of wood to pry him off or any other holy like collectable to beat the crap out of him. There wasn't really any other choice. I had to remove him with my own fingers, and fast.

Holding back a squeal of revulsion, I leaned forward, placing my shivering hand against its sticky, rotting flesh. At impact the thing began to rock restlessly, drooling everywhere. The smell triggered my gag reflex as I looked away, gulping a bubble of air. Blinking back tears, I returned to place the very tips of my other fingers against its scalp, pushing with all my might. Without warning, I was rewarded with the sensation of something being sucked out of goo and my foot growing a head lighter. Unfortunately, the zombie had flown straight at the face and moving arm of the other which led to a chained reaction of playing tennis, and the head soon rolled over towards the hoard of human eaters that finally managed to trip out onto the concrete road just outside the demolished door.

I held my breath as the first undead soldier watched his companion roll steadily towards him, stumbling forward with curiosity. Finding it to not be eatable (I guess zombies make a pact not to eat their own kind?), he groaned with frustration and began to drag himself towards where I barely hid in the miniature cave of table and roof.

I gulped, shrinking back into myself.

He was getting close. Too close for comfort, drawn by the squirming, half flat Mrs. K, leaving me to quickly go over what I should do. Running in his direction defenseless was no doubt suicide. I had to sneak out of there somehow.

Peering at the other side of me, I noted what was left of the doorway leading into the kitchen, blocked off by clusters of wood. It was in the just placed in the line of the zombies' sight. The thought of exposing myself for some undetermined amount of time, picking out objects that I had no idea if they were even light enough for me to lift, felt a bit of risky gamble. But I guessed that squatting here and pretending to melt into the wall wasn't really the best of plans either.

There was something riskier that I could try to do to hopefully draw out some more time, but another problem remained with the case of Mrs. K. If I were to toss the statue in my hand somewhere away from me, would the zombie A) follow it? B) Ignore it? Or C) Be completely drawn to the direction it was thrown away from?

Two of those possibilities were not in my favor. Just what on earth was I supposed to do?

Exhaling shudders of a coming freak out, I dared my legs to move, dragging over the stiff bodies of my previous assailants. God they smelled awful…

Awful… They smelled like a zombie. I didn't smell like a zombie. _I_ didn't smell like _them_. And they made sure not to kill one another.

Eyes widening, I glanced down at the hideous faces of Ricardo and Paul, then back up at Mrs. K. She still proceeded to snarl at me, swiping at the empty space before her. Would she still give me away? Zombies weren't too keen on using their thinking skills, but in this case a little credit should be given. What I was about to do was going to be revolting and have my body pleading for a million showers, but if the little turd gave up my position, I was done for.

Well, YOLO right? Ok, maybe not so much anymore.

With a slight grunt, I stretched back my arm holding Jesus, raising high into the heavens (excuse my pun) and chunked it as hard as I could into the hallway where she came from, leading to the bedrooms. It clattered with a deafening 'smash!', leaving me momentarily beaming with pride before struggling to bite back a vomit to lift the thankfully not obese or fat druggies, worn down to the bones by the greens. Just as a storm of angry inhuman voices went off to investigate the sound, Mrs. K included (just as planned!), the bodies were on top of me, burying me in their eye watering foul stench.

What occurred in front of me happened like a dream. I watched, heart pounding in my chest, a flurry of shoes struggling past me into the dark corridors of the hallway. They completely walked over a desperate Mrs. K, kicking and trampling her in the process. They were so eager to find their next meal they unknowingly forced her head into itself.

Huh. Guess there _are_ some exceptions.

I counted to a point of growing dizzy with adrenaline, squeezing my eyes shut for the second time that day. When the growling grew dim and a safe distance away, I pulled myself along the wall, bodies still on top, peering around the ruined walls for more of them.

There wasn't a single soul in sight. To my amazement, they really were drawn to the sound of Jesus shattering against a wall. How amusing.

Pausing to listen for anymore nearby raspy breathes, I heaved myself up from my "blankets", silently thanking them and apologizing for bashing them to death; again I suppose. That made three "_re_-murders" I committed in a span of five minutes.

My legs felt like jelly as I pushed myself to begin running, keeping to the shadows of the other demolished homes. Every once in a while I would stop in my tracks, listening intently for actual living people, only to be let down by the replacing sputters of the dead ones. The further away I left my home in the dust, I began to feel the tugs of emotions finally snip at my lungs, slowing me down to a gasping, sobbing mess. My hand lifted up to cover my mouth, muffling my delayed cries at the sudden realization; my parents were _dead_. Everyone in this neighborhood, so far, was _dead_. I was still alive, but _alone_ and wandering the streets looking for my next step.

Mortified and delirious with depression, I leaned against the next set of buildings, pressing knuckles into my eyes, hard. Black spots drizzled along my lines of sight when I pulled them away, blurring the world into a darkening gloom of a graveyard.

There was no way I was heading back to where I started. My cell phone, books, and now even my parents… whatever was left unattended, was lying back there. Everything I once possessed was probably either destroyed or being trampled on by strangers looking for anything that moves and…

Oh God. Here comes the waterworks.

I crumpled down to my rear, sliding against the brick walls of someone else's home. For a moment I threw away any thoughts of seeking safety and just cried, head buried in the crooks of my arms, tears staining my bloodied pajamas. In the distance, the faint explosions of more tanks ignited the darkening sky. Apparently my alarm this morning malfunctioned. School was canceled today anyways.

After I felt like I had a pretty decent release of feelings, I wiped my face, sniffling noisily. A part of me was contemplating whether or not I should find a place to camp in for the night, believing it to be a bad idea to stay out when the sun wasn't out. But if I were to go off walking, it'd probably be a sensible tactic to search for some nearby shoes. Looking down at my scratched and bloodied feet I cringed at the pain beginning to ebb from them.

Reluctantly, I went on my investigation for some shoes. I couldn't help but limp as I foolishly cursed myself for looking down at the damage, clearly over dramatizing the stinging sensation taking place. Each step was quite an effort as I maneuvered around bits of glass and rocks. Gruesomely torn apart bodies littered the area, none of which had comparable sized feet. I pressed onward trying to find appropriate material while simultaneously telling myself to look forward and up at the sky to avoid seeing the scratches and inner intestines of familiar faces spilling out onto the streets of my neighborhood. After a few more emotional pauses to catch my breath and shed some tears for the departed, I came across a girl, roughly my age. My stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot, recognizing her to be one of my close friends. Her brunette hair spilled messily over her glassy stare, falling into the gaping hole of her surprised expression. In her hand was a tightly clutched glistening blade, the tip of it red with the blood of the infected. Her parents perhaps? Did she have to kill her own sister? With a choked sob, I reached down to wipe away her loose strands, and like all those tragic flicks, lightly pressed down on her eyelids to reveal the illusion of her taking a nap. In the middle of the street…. With a bloody weapon in her hand… That was really dead.

I fell into yet another series of convulsions, sick and tired of this ritual, bringing myself to steal away her shoes. Giving her a quick and friendly final pat on the shoulder, I slipped on the new sneakers, already hating the feeling of walking in these without socks. Allison's hand grew white where she held onto the knife with a stubborn determination as I tried to pry it loose from her stiffening fingers. With a little bit of patience, I pull it away successfully, mentally yelling at the low popping sound of something breaking.

Jesus. I freaking broke my best friend's finger.

Out of nowhere, I heard a scream that wasn't my own. Startled, I dropped the blade, shifting to give the surrounding area a once over for any signs of survivors. It seemed to have come from a house a couple blocks down. Hopeful for an ally to accompany with (unless of course, this person died before I got there), I bent back down to retrieve the kitchen utensil.

The kitchen utensil that I sort of dropped into my friend's face.

In a quick motion, I yanked away the knife, gawking at the amount of blood pooling from her cheek.

It was then I decided to finally lose my stomach and vomit all over her.

If there's an award for _worst_ friend to have survive and find your body at the apocalypse and attempt to model you into a state of peace and grace when she found out you had died and somehow failed miserably while thinking of a thousand apologies _and_ throw up everywhere, god, please let me know. I don't even know if that sentence made any sense, but whatever. I am a truly horrible, horrible friend.

When I finished up with being sick and ruining Allison's image once and for all, I numbly apologized once more, and sprinted off into the distance where the screams were still going off.

When I arrived close enough to witness a cluster of the undead ganging up on a young girl screaming her face off, I went on high strategy mode. Temporary. A low gurgle blared from behind me as I instinctively shot the knife out and pierced a shoulder. In a state of shock, my teeth chattered at the unfazed creature, now tearing at my hair. With a scream, I kneed it in the groin, desperately tugging my prize back to my possession. Clearly I underestimated my strength as the blade was deeply lodged into its flesh, refusing to budge. From behind me, the girl went on screaming for help.

_Well just wait a damn sec while I get myself out of _this_ situation._

In a burst of energy, I tried punching the stupid thing, howling at the responding pain of hitting something made entirely of metal. I hardly left a mark on the snapping face of my attacker. I take another check behind me to find the child still breathing, but being closed in rather tightly, and took this as motivation for sinking my nails into his neck. A liquid substance not quite blood drizzled down my arms, squirting on my face. I squeezed my mouth tightly, proceeding to dig around to find the arteries to his cardiovascular system. When my hand folded around its squishy texture, I began to tug, praying logic still applied to the fact this should connect with the brain. Pulling back with all my might, I fell onto the ground, wincing at the shattering sensation of breaking my butt, hand still shakily wrapped around a fountain of what should have never been touched.

The used to be man before me hesitated, watch me with fascination, wondering just what in the world I had done, then began to gradually fall… on top of me. With an 'oof', I slid him off me, check for a responsive attempt at biting me, rewarded with his eternal silence. Working fast, I leaped up to place my new shoes upon his chest and the street, huffing exhaustingly to reclaim my weapon. In due time it gives, making me stumble a couple of steps back. I shook away all throbbing spots of my fingers, feet, and fist, racing to save the precious life before me.

There was no screaming.

To my dismay, the girl had disappeared entirely under the massive circle of zombies falling on the lawn, devouring her small body. My hand fell to my stomach as I heaved, readying myself to lose even more of last night's dinner. At the sound of my gagging, a couple of heads spun in my direction, slobbering with bits of blonde hair and shredded clothing.

No time to be sick, I ran for my life once again, sprinting towards the setting sun with no destination in mind.

* * *

It was nighttime.

After hours of running, collapsing, being found, and going back to running, I fell to my knees at the presence of a single house that had been boarded up. My chest was on fire, my face moist with sweat. I hadn't eaten anything for twenty four hours, not including the little bits of food I had lost earlier in the day.

This was not as fun as they promised me.

I couldn't bring myself to cry anymore, afraid I'd only waste more precious water slowly depleting in my system. Stroking the grass of the lawn I found myself unable to move away from, I lowered further into the dirt. The sounds of more undead no less than a few car lengths away kept me from being able to rest. I was completely spent. There was no way I could get up again.

It was then I noticed a flickering of a curtain moving.

This gave me the strength to miraculously crawl towards a nearby banister, reaching up to drag myself along the wooden surface. With each creak, I cringed, looking back to see I hadn't been noticed yet. As I reached the front door to the quaint house, still in one piece, I conjured up torturous scenarios of the doors bursting open, my parent inside as well as a clean Allison, ushering me in with a plate of cookies. It was a pitiful attempt at self-reassurance, but effective none the less. The tops of it were decorated with thick strips of black, the rest a pleasant tannish color. It looked relatively peaceful for a place in the middle of all hell. It could top as a refuge I'd like to sleep in, at least for the night.

Clumsily, I tackled the front entrance, gently rapping the surface. No answer. I tried the doorknob, finding it to be slightly loose. With a push I found the reluctance I had been expecting. I guessed it was probably barricaded from the inside.

Did this mean someone was inside?

I knocked a bit louder, speaking in a hurried whisper, "Excuse me. Hey, I'm not dead. If anyone is in there, please, I just need a place to stay."

No answer.

This wouldn't do. This simply couldn't end like this. I _refused_ to sleep on the street with those _things_.

With a thunderous pounding, I slammed my fist twice against the door, ignoring the returning pain and begging a bit too loudly to please, please, please be let in.

Again, no answer except for the groans of zombies now drawn back to me.

Defeated, I fell forward, head against the frame, uncaring of the coming growls of my doom.

I had already begun to black out just before hitting the ground when the door swung open to a wide eyed black man and his son, shovel and pistol in hand.


End file.
